Killing Them Softly (12 page)

Let me tell you something. Things couldn’t be any better for me if this was a movie, and I was writtin’ the shit myself. I got Devin and Avonte both so sprung on this pussy, it ain’t even funny no more. I got them both spendin’ crazy money on me’; buyin’ me anything I even think I want. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, digital camera, iPod; all that shit. And Devin makes sure I always got plenty of weed. Both of ’em hittin’ me off with cash. Plus, I got a couple of other little slim cuties, one that does things to me with a strap that makes me shake.

It was wonderful.

But if it was a competition and I had to pick a winner, it would be Avonte. For one, her pockets are deeper than Devin’s, and two, her self-esteem issues make her easy for me to control. Avonte needs the approval of the people she feels close to, so she will do anything to please me. Probably some childhood shit about her daddy.

See, I knew payin’ attention in group while I was at Bedford, listenin’ to them dumb bitches talk about their problems would pay off.

Avonte has problems with men. She never really trusted Devin. That’s why she didn’t tell him she got money. Fuck all that bullshit she tried to run on me about her wantin’ him to want her for her.

Bullshit!

It was all about the money. And now that she caught hubby cheatin’, in her eyes, men are fucked.

So she’s been avoiding Devin for weeks. The three of us hooked up a few of times. But other than that, Avonte don’t want to be bothered with him. After a while, he took the hint and stopped calling her.

Now, there wasn’t any point in letting all that fat, juicy dick go to waste, so when he calls me, I come. He always makes it worth my time, and I make it worth his. Devin called me and said he wanted us to get together that evening before he went home.

I feel sorry for Devin sometimes. I know that he was really into Avonte, and her avoidin’ him hurts his ass. He told me about his wife’s issues, and that she was gettin’ worse. He was trying to be home with her more often. But he just had to have some of this wet shit I got here, so I met him at his apartment and we fucked.

Devin grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled my body into his. I started twistin’ my hips, and he started rubbing my thighs and my ass at the same time. Then he stopped and took a few steps back. "What the hell are you doin’?"

I turned around and watched Devin stroking his length, still wonderin’ why he had stopped. I rubbed my hands over my tits. I ran my hands up to my neck and back down to my stiff and very sensitive nipples. Then I squeezed them between my fingers, and watched Devin stoke himself. Without a word, I fell to my knees and took Devin into my mouth.

"Damn," Devin hollered, and stumbled back onto a nearby chair. I laughed at his ass and stepped to him, spread my legs wide, and pushed my fuckin’ titties in his face.

He sucked my nipples. He had his eyes open, watching me watching him. I watched as his tongue moved around these chocolate covered raisins. I began playing with the other one. Devin pulled back, and started watching me.

"You like what you see, nigga?" I asked, moving my hand between my thighs.

Devin didn’t answer; he just palmed my titties and squeezed them. I put my hand on his shoulder to steady myself, and swung one leg over and mounted him.

I started shaking my hips and rubbing my titties again. Taking a finger into my mouth, tracing from my lips to my chin, then down to my neck, and then to my belly button.

As I bounced up and down on him, I twisted my hips, rocking them from left to right. Then I spread my legs even farther apart, and bent my knees slightly so I could shake my ass up and down on his dick.

Devin held me close, and moved his hips in sync with my rhythm. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he could feel my walls tightening and loosening around him.

"You love this pussy, don’t you?" I said, as I rotated between a bounce and grind move that was drivin’ him crazy. "Yeah, that’s it, come for me," I instructed, since he was wearin’ a condom. "I want to feel you explode inside me."

Devin moved his hips and tried to pump himself into me as hard as he could. I matched his every move, stroke for stroke. I felt him begin to expand inside me, and I fucked him harder, movin’ my hips even faster and harder.

Devin grabbed my waist and tried to slow my roll, but that wasn’t happenin’. We both collapsed in each other’s arms.

That shit was so fuckin’ good. But this particular night, Devin wasn’t quite himself. I could tell that wife shit was wearin’ on him.

When he was done, instead of getting out of bed and runnin’ for the shower like he always did, Devin just laid there starin’ at the ceiling.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"I don’t wanna go home."

"Wifey trippin’ again?"

"I never know what to expect when I get there. Either she’ll be practically catatonic, or she’ll be mad enough to kill me about some shit I know nothing about."

"That’s fucked up."

"Tell me about it. I don’t know how much more I can take."

"Why don’t you kill her and be done wit’ that shit."

"That’s a good idea. Yeah, that’s it, just kill her, then I’ll be in jail. No thanks."

"Okay, but if she was fuckin’ wit’ me like she fuckin’ wit’ you—shit—I’d have to kill her ass. Life is too fuckin’ short to be goin’ through no fuckin’ changes."

"You’re right about that."

"Of course I’m right. You kill her ass and then you’ll have some peace."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"If it’s so easy, then why don’t you kill her for me?"

"How much you gonna pay me?"

"How much you want?"

I know Devin didn’t think I was serious, but I was. Dead serious. I knew sooner or later that crazy bitch would start fuckin’ wit’ my dick, and my money. Either one was unacceptable. That bitch had to go. So I gave him a number. High enough that he would know I was serious, but low enough for him to think about it. "Ten grand," I said, and Devin sat up in the bed.

It worked.

I had him thinkin’ about it. I cursed myself for not sayin’ fifteen, but why be greedy. He turned around and looked at me. "You serious?"

"You got ten grand?"

"I could get it."

"Then I’m serious."

"Serious. You would kill my wife for ten Gs?"

"How many times you gonna ask me that? I told you, you put ten Gs in my hand, and the bitch is done."

"You ever—kill anybody before?"

"Yes."

"Who? How?"

"You don’t need to know all that shit, nigga. All you need to know is that if you want me to do it, I can, and will, kill her for you," I said and rolled over.

Devin got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. When he got out, he got dressed and came and sat on the bed.

"How would you do it?"

"You don’t need to know all that either. You tell me when you want it done, and you be someplace with a lot of witnesses. I’ll make it look like it was a robbery that went wrong."

Devin sat there for a while. I could tell by looking at him that he had decided in the shower that he wanted me to kill her. Now he was thinking about whether he could get away with it.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

I wasn’t even about to be bothered with that shit. I sat up in the bed and moved closer to Devin.

"’Cause you gonna give me ten thousand reasons to trust me. Look, Devin, either you want me to do it or you don’t. Either you trust me or you don’t. It’s up to you. Askin’ me a bunch of fuckin’ questions is just wastin’ time. You go on home to your crazy-ass wife, and you think about what you wanna do. When you make up your mind, you let me know," I said and laid down. I figured I’d chill out there for the night. Maybe invite little Cutie over to finish the job that Devin started.

"I don’t need to think about it." Devin stood up. "I want you to do it."

"When?"

"How soon can you do it?"

"How soon can you get me the money?"

"Tomorrow. I’ll give you half; then the other half when it’s done."

"You give me the money tomorrow, and I’ll do it tomorrow night. But understand something. I will kill your wife, and when I do, I’m gonna want my money. No excuses. My money. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

"Make sure, ’cause I won’t have any problem killin’ you too."

Devin smiled at me like he was tryin’ to size me up.

"Don’t even think ’bout that shit, nigga. I will fuckin’ kill you."

"I believe you will," Devin said, and sat next to me on the bed. "Every night Taye takes sleeping pills, and after that, she is pretty much out of it. Tomorrow night I’ll make sure she takes it, and that she’s in bed around nine o’clock. When I’m sure she’s out, I’ll leave and go someplace where I can be seen. I’ll leave the alarm off, you break in, kill her, take some shit, and go."

"Any cash in the house?"

"Not after tomorrow there won’t be."

"Tomorrow night it is. When you bringing the money?"

"You meet me here tomorrow at one-thirty. I’ll give you the money and the address," Devin said, and stood up.

"See you then," I said, and watched Devin leave the apartment.

As soon as I heard the door close, I reached for my purse. I dug around in there until I found my cell and my cigarettes. I lit up a cigarette and dialed a number.

"House of beauty, this is Cutie," she said in that sexy-ass voice.

"What’s up, Cutie. This Q. What you doin’?"

"Reading a book. What about you?"

"Layin’ here naked, thinkin’ ’bout your sexy ass. Why don’t you come by and do what you do."

I told Cutie where Devin lived, and she said she would be there in hour. I made myself comfortable and didn’t think no more ’bout killin’ Devin’s wife. Tomorrow at one-thirty, if he handed me five Gs, I would worry ’bout it then.

I took one last look at Qianna before heading for the door. I left the apartment and walked toward the elevator. I was outside of the building and walking to my car, before I truly allowed myself to think. Think about what I was doing. I was talking about killing my wife—killing Taye.

On the way home, the car seemed to drive itself. One thought rolled around in my mind. I had just told Qianna that I would pay her to kill Taye.

It’s not like this was the first time I’d thought about it. And each time I thought about it two things would end the discussion: one, I didn’t think I could do it, and two, even if I could do it, I didn’t think I could get away with it. I knew that I would be the first person that they would suspect. Spending the rest of my life in jail wasn’t something I planned on doing.

The idea of getting somebody to kill her for me never entered my mind. And now that it had, now that I had told somebody, planned with somebody, agreed on a price, the question was, the only question was, did I really want Taye dead?

I thought back to my conversation with Qianna.
Serious. You would kill my wife for ten Gs?
I could hear myself saying.

How many times you gonna ask me that? I told you, you put ten Gs in my hand, and the bitch is done.

Were things that bad between us that I wanted her dead? Was I that angry with her to want her dead? Sadly, I had already answered that question. Yes, I was that unhappy with my life and the way it was going, to want her out of it.

I could just divorce her. I could go home right now, pack my things, and leave her. I could file for divorce in the morning and be done with it. I could move on with my life, and Taye could keep hers.

If I really wanted to be honest with myself, our current situation was my fault. Things really went bad for us when Taye found out that I had fucked Sandra. Since then, Taye has made my life a living hell. When I walk through the door, I never know what to expect. Since neither of her moods was good, it really didn’t matter. But was it enough to want her dead for what was essentially my fault?

Sadly, the answer was yes.

What was worse was the real reason that I was even considering murder as an option over divorce, and it wasn’t her mood. The real reason was money.

If I divorced her it would cost money. Since her condition is getting worse, and she refuses to take her prescribed medication, only those damn sleeping pills, she can’t work at all anymore. I would be her only means of support. That meant I would have to pay all of her legal fees and court costs. I would most likely loose the house, and have to split all of our other assets, on top of having to pay her a healthy amount of alimony. The weight of all of that would be a lot for me to bear. That makes it cheaper to kill her.

But there is a flip slide to my equation. When we were first married, Taye and I took out insurance policies on each other: a million-dollar life insurance policy with a double indemnity death benefit. If Qianna killed her in what would look like a robbery, and I wasn’t a suspect, I could collect that money. The truth was that I had a million reasons to want her dead.

But could I really trust Qianna? Could she kill somebody? Knowing what I know about her, which I admit isn’t much, I would say, yes, she could. I’ve seen the knife she carries around with her all the time.
You ever—kill anybody before?

Yes.

The question was could I trust her to do it, and keep her mouth shut? Could I trust her not to leave evidence that would lead the police to her? And if that happened, would she tell the cops everything?

I turned into my driveway and put the car in park. I got out of the car, turned on the alarm, and walked toward the house. But instead of going inside, I took a walk around the house. The floodlights came on right away. I looked at the windows and the door on the backside of the house. Then I turned around and looked at the neighbor’s houses to get a feel for how visible they were.

I walked back to the front of the house and went inside, thinking that I would to turn off the floodlights before I left the house that next night. So that I wouldn’t forget, I went straight to the kitchen and flipped the switch. It was located on the same panel as the back porch light. I do it accidentally all the time, anyway.

I went to the bar and made myself a drink, and sat down in my chair. Planning is one thing, but it doesn’t really mean anything until I actually give Qianna the money. At this point, there was still time to back away from this. I could go upstairs, right now, and try to talk to Taye. Something I’ve attempted every night without success. I could tell her that I was sorry about everything that has gone on. Try to get her to see that she needed to—that we needed to recommit to some type of treatment plan.

Maybe we could find a doctor that could reach her. One that could prescribe something that she could take that wouldn’t have the type of side effects that would make her like a zombie. I could tell her that we could do it together, and maybe we could reclaim some semblance of the life we once shared.

I finished my drink and went upstairs. I was determined to try. Trying was certainly better than the alternative. Certainly better than the fate I had planned for her.

When I opened the door to our bedroom, Taye was laying in bed, dressed as she usually is, in sexy lingerie. It was something that bothered me, and I never have understood. Why wear sexy lingerie if sex is nowhere in your plan?

Taye was a very beautiful woman, with a body that still, in spite of everything that has happened, makes me want her each night when I get in bed with her. It was torture for me to sleep with her every night, knowing that she won’t let me touch her.

"Hello, Taye. How was your day?"

Taye looked up at me and threw the book she was reading at me. Then she got out of bed, walked over to the book, and picked it up.

"What’s wrong?"

Taye got back in the bed and propped herself up. "I hate you." Then she opened the book and began reading.

I started to turn around right then, go back downstairs, fix myself a drink, and come back after her sleeping pills kicked in.

Instead, I went and sat down on the edge of the bed. I guess I got a little too close, because Taye kicked me. I moved to what I felt was a safe distance, and took a deep breath.

I spent the next half-hour trying to convince Taye that there was a better way than this. I told her that we could get through this, get through it together, and all she would have to do is say the word and recommit to treatment, and we could make it. My pleas fell on deaf ears, and after a while Taye said, "I hate you."

She turned off the light and repositioned herself in the bed. I knew there was no hope for us. I got up and went back to the bar. I sat there for the rest of the night, drinking and thinking.

Divorce or murder?

When I woke up that next morning, I was still in that chair. I got up and took a shower to get ready to go to work. When I was dressed and ready to go, I knew that it was time for me to make a decision. I stood in the doorway to my office, knowing that there was still time to change my mind.

I walked into the office and opened the safe. I had twelve thousand dollars that I had won playing poker a few months back. I took out all of it, and counted out ten thousand dollars. Then I got two envelopes, put five in one, and rest in the other.

During the drive to the work, I was surprisingly calm for somebody that was about to sanction the murder of his wife. That morning at the office was no different. I went to meetings, interacted with Winston and the rest of my co-workers, and did my job like it was just another day.

When it was time to go and meet Qianna, I left the office and drove to the apartment. She was stretched out naked on the couch watching TV, when I got there. "Hey," she said and sat up.

"How you doin’?"

"You decide what you wanna do?"

As I walked toward her, I took the envelope out of my jacket pocket.

"I guess you have."

I handed her the envelope, and she dropped it on the coffee table.

"I know I don’t need to count this," Qianna said, and sat on the edge of the couch. She began unbuckling my pants. I took off my jacket and laid it on top of the money.

"No need. Five grand, like I said."

"She’s done," Qianna said, and took me into her mouth.

"I’m not gonna leave the house until she goes to sleep. When I get where I’m going, I’ll call you," I said, and loosened my tie. "I’ll stay gone for at least four hours. That should give you plenty of time to do it." I took off my shirt and laid it on the jacket.

"Where she keep her jewelry?" Qianna asked, and took me into her mouth again.

"In the bedroom. The jewelry box is on her makeup table. I’ll leave the back door unlocked when I leave."

Qianna stopped abruptly. "No. It will look better if I gotta break in. You leave all that shit to me. All you gotta do is make sure ain’t no damn alarm gonna go off. When I’ma get the rest of my money?"

"Call me in a couple of days, and I’ll meet you someplace."

"Why don’t you just meet me here?"

"I’ll let you know," I said, and looked around the apartment knowing that I would never come there again.

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Come fuck me then." Qianna bent over the couch and I fucked her.

Hard.

When I was done, I got dressed, and got back to work in time for another boring meeting. At five o’clock, Winston stopped by the office and asked me if I wanted to get a drink. We used to go out for drinks after work all the time, but that was years ago. He still asks me everyday, and everyday, I turn him down. I saw no reason to do any different. "Not today, still got a lot of work to do."

At six o’clock I left there, and took my time going home. Taye was in the kitchen, cooking herself dinner, when I got there. She made eye contact to knowledge my presence, and continued what she was doing. I took a seat at the table and began talking.

I told her again that I was sorry about everything that has gone on, and promised again that I would never let anything like that touch her. I told her that we shouldn’t give up on treatment, and try to find another doctor that could reach her. Maybe they could prescribe something that she could take that could help her. I promised that we would to recommit to some type of treatment plan.

Once again, my words were met by deafening silence. When Taye finished eating, she got up from the table and went upstairs. I followed her. Taye went in the bedroom and began her nighttime ritual, while I continued to talk about getting help for her, about saving our marriage, about saving her life. That ended at eighty-thirty when Taye picked up her bottle of sleeping pills.

I sat quietly and watched her for the next thirty minutes or so; watched her until she went to sleep.

"Good-bye, Taye."

It was almost ten o’clock before I got up from the chair and went downstairs. I went to the bar in the living room, poured myself a drink, and drank it down quickly. I had another before I walked out of the house and got in my car.

I tried not to think as I drove to a pay phone to call Qianna. All I had to do to end this was not call, and it would be over. I stopped at a 7-Eleven about ten miles from the house, and pulled up in front of the phone, knowing that I had made up my mind when I left our bedroom.

I walked to the phone and dialed her number. "Hello," Qianna said.

"I’m out," I said, and hung up the phone.

I got back in the car and drove back toward the house. There was a sports bar not far from the house that Taye and I used to go to, before she lost the baby. I still go there every once and a while to have a drink and watch a game. I wasn’t a regular there or anything like that, but I went there enough that the regulars knew me. I had even told Johnny, the bartender, about the problems Taye was having, one night when he asked why she didn’t come with me anymore.

I went inside and waved to the people that I recognized, and took a seat at the bar. "Barcardi 151," I told Johnny when he put the napkin down in front of me.

"Comin’ out the gate strong tonight," Johnny said, and went to fix my drink.

"Me and the wife are having problems again."

For the next minute or two, I caught Johnny up on what had been going on with Taye. I told him that I loved her, and didn’t know what I was going to do next.

"Keep them coming," I said when he returned with my drink.

Just after Johnny put my second drink down in front of me, my cell rang. I looked at the display. It was Avonte calling. I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d talked to her, much less seen her. The last few times I called her, she had some lame excuse why she couldn’t get away. It didn’t take me long to get the hint that she didn’t want to be bothered, so I stopped calling.

Since I knew what she wanted, I started to answer the phone, but I knew that I was in the right place doing what I needed to be doing. I put the phone back in my pocket and picked up my drink.

I was pretty fucked up by the time he sat the forth one in front of me. That was also the first time that I paid any attention to the guy that had sat down next to me. He was drinking beer by the pitcher, and watching whatever baseball game was in front of him.

As the game began to go against his team, he started trying to talk to me about the game. For the most part, I just ignored what he was saying and kept on drinking. It wasn’t until he grabbed and shook my arm, when his team made a big hit to tie the game that I had something to say.

Besides, I was fucked up.

"Get your fuckin’ hands off me!" I yelled, and snatched my arm back.

"Did you see that? It’s all tied!" he yelled back and pointed at the big screen.

"I don’t give a fuck! Just don’t put your hands on me again, you fuckin’ asshole!" I yelled, and elbowed him.

"Who the fuck you think you talking to?"

"Talkin’ to you, asshole," I said, and pushed him this time. Before I knew it, he had hit me in the face, and I fell off my chair. I got up and went right at him.